Butterfly, Butterfly
by RedStalkingDeath
Summary: After failing his mission last year, Draco finds himself in a precarious possition with the world at large. But when tragedy strikes again, he'll find comfort and the will to live where he least expects it. Written for a Dramione Challenge
1. I: Granger's Summer Break

**Title: Butterfly Effect**

**Genre: Romance, drama, a bit of angst (Draco _needs_ a little angst to be remotely in character, doesn't he?)**

**Pairing: A little Hermione/Ron for a while (but very mild, practically non-existent), will eventually be Hermione/Draco :P**

**Rating: T for now, don't know yet whether or not I'll keep it like that or raise it to an M later. I guess we'll see**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do own a copy of all the seven books in both Norwegian and English, though. And a lot of the Harry Potter Lego, a diary from 2002/2003, and I think I might have a folder with some drawing from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ on it somewhere. Oh! And of course I have a copy of all eight movies on DVD (as well as the three first on VHS). But sadly, I DO NOT own the rights to anything Harry Potter – so don't sue me!**

**AN: Written for the _Dramione Challenge_ at _Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum_**

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**Part I: The Caterpillar**

_**"The caterpillar lives by the instincts of its species, which mostly consists of self-preservation in relation to food and predators. The creature is said to represent the "lowly" and the "unformed", and the potential and/or ability to create positive change. Dreaming about a caterpillar signifies a stage in a persons personal growth and development, or being at the beginning of a great journey of self realisation."**_

_**- A merging of content from various sources**_

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Chapter One – Granger's Summer Break

In a decently-sized bedroom somewhere on the British Isles, seventeen year old Hermione was resting on her stomach on top of the bright blue comforter in her average-sized bed. Her bare feet were held up into the air – legs crossed at the ankles – in the pleasantly warm air of late summer. Her clever head – surrounded by slightly bushy, brown hair – rested comfortably on the palm of her left hand, and her normal-sized teeth bit down on the tip of her quill in concentration as her light brown eyes flitted across the page of a school textbook - supported by the pillow in front of her face – as she double checked all the facts in an essay she had written for her homework weeks earlier.

Hermione was quite fond of books – which anyone that knew her would call the understatement of the year, or perhaps even the century – and she was in no way ashamed to acknowledge that fact. Actually, she would proudly admit to have read all of the 605 books covering a whole wall of her room – _yes_, she actually knew each and every book she owned – as well as at least thrice that number in books borrowed at the magnificent library at _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. In other words, she was quite the well read young woman.

"Hermione?" a loud female voice called from downstairs, startling the one on the bed into dropping her quill. Cursing silently in her mind – she had been brought up not to swear after all, and frankly saw no reason to start doing so at that age – as she realized yet another pillow case had gotten stained with ink. "Dinner's ready!"

"Coming!" she yelled back, gathering her reading and writing stuff to put away and finish later, then hurried down the stairs, accompanied by the heavenly smell of freshly baked bread and fried chicken. The wood coloured, paneled walls on both sides of her were littered with pictures of a brown-haired couple and their equally brown-haired daughter at various stages of her childhood - from the earlier days she'd mostly spent eating and sleeping, to the fine young woman she had grown into – all of it proof of a happy and well lived home.

Hermione's parents had already taken their seats at the small, four seater dining table when she entered the just big enough to be practical kitchen. Dinner was on the table, though what the creation was called, she did not know. Mrs. Granger had been in some sort of health fase lately, experimenting with all kinds of supposedly much healthier dishes than she would normally serve – and being a dentist family, they were already more aware of what they exposed their teeth and mouth to than most people - but as long as the taste was good, the other two had no complaints.

"Hello, 'Mione," her father greeted with a loving smile as his daughter found her own chair at the dinner table, facing the window – where the blinds were pulled down so they'd not be blinded by the sun while eating – with her mother on her left hand and father on her right. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you all day."

"Hi, Daddy," Hermione smiled back, helping herself to some of the delicious-smelling food – her mother truly was an amazing chef. "I've been working on my Potions assignment."

"I thought you finished that last month," her mother remarked, but the tone of her voice added a very prominent question mark to the sentence.

"I did," the young woman agreed, pausing to swallow a tasty piece of chicken. "I'm looking over it to make sure I didn't get anything wrong. And, I can't hand in an assignment filled with misspellings – least of all to Professor Snape."

"I'm sure it's perfect, my dear," her mother assured in her soothing voice, putting a reassuring hand over her daughter's, giving it a light squeeze. "You shouldn't work yourself too hard, though, you ought to take a break and just enjoy the rest of the summer."

"I will," the witch of the family agreed with a content smile touching her lips, grateful to have such caring parents. "I only have a few paragraphs left to proofread. Anyway, how was work?"

The rest of the meal went by with the usual chatter of a normal family dinner, without anything suggesting there even existed any world other than the muggle one.

Afterwards all three of them worked together to clear the table, when Mrs. Granger suddenly remembered something that had been evading her mind throughout the whole dinner. "Oh! Your Hogwarts letter arrived today," the elder woman exclaimed. It had taken Hermione's dentist parents a few years to get properly used to the whole idea of Hogwarts and the magical world, but considering the circumstances they did an admirable job of it – after all, their view of the world in general had been completely turned upside-down that fateful day seven years previously. "It's over there by the coffee maker."

Hermione had been eagerly awaiting this years letter ever since the beginning of summer break – not that she didn't always look forward to it, but this time more so than usual. This summer there was the possibility of a Head Girl badge added to the customary letter, and a position she'd been wanting since she learned of it's existence reading _Hogwarts: A History_ late into the night after her very first trip to the marvelous Dragon Alley.

With increasing anticipation, the young witch fetched the cream coloured envelope – where her name and address glinted in emerald green ink, spelled out in a neat hand – and proceeded to open it with hands trembling slightly in nervousness.

Having finally managed to breach the stamp on the suspenseful envelope, she paused briefly, closing her eyes and drawing deep, calming breaths, before fully opening it and taking a good look at its contents. And there it was: that one shiny, exclusive badge emblazoned with the initials 'HG', the hallmark of one of the highest positions any student could possibly hope to achieve.

Hermione could hardly believe her eyes – of all the girls in her year, _she_ had been chosen to this prestigious, respectful and highly sought after responsibility.

Slowly a smile stretched her lips, until she was grinning like a fool. She could barely contain her excitement as it dawned on her that she had actually made it. It was honestly a dream come true. She felt giddy, like a small child on Christmas eagerly waiting to open their presents, as she turned to her parents to share the delightful news.

It wasn't until later that night while she was getting ready for bed, that the newly appointed Head Girl began to wonder who'd received the other badge.

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**AN: Any thoughts? Was it good? Bad? Am I abusing/misusing the [-]s and the [,]s? My brother says I do... :O Anyway - please leave a review to let me know, even if it's just to say you've read it :)  
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	2. I: A Slytherin's Summer

Chapter Two – A Slytherin's Summer

The sole heir of the distinguished, pureblooded Malfoy family, Draco Malfoy, reclined on his always expensively and impeccably dressed back on his ridiculously huge four-poster bed in his about the size of a normal house private chambers at Malfoy Manor.

He really had no need to ever leave his own rooms if he didn't want to, something he rarely _did_ want. He truly didn't care for most of the company he'd have to endure, should he decide to make his way towards the rest of the Manor – his mother being the exception to the rule, naturally. And if he should find it in himself to require anything he couldn't procure by himself or without venturing outside of his safe haven, he could always merely call for one of the many house elves employed at the grand Manor, and order whatever else he could think of – be it either a four-course dinner or fetching a book from copious library situated vis-á-vis his own rooms.

Frankly, he could not be bothered to do such mundane tasks himself, he was a Malfoy after all, and as a Malfoy he was not built for any kind of labour. The Dark Lord conveniently disregarded any notions of that nature, though - to him everyone was a servant made to serve him, and him alone.

Ah, the Dark Lord. Now _that_ was what you could call a touchy subject in the remains of the Malfoy family these days, if there ever was one. _Remains_ being the keyword here; Lord Voldemort had not been particularly happy or forgiving of the youngest Malfoy's failure in his mission to kill Professor Dumbledore at the end of last school year.

Draco could count himself lucky to still be _alive_, even if it would be 'lucky' in the loosest sense of the term. Seeing as the troublesome Headmaster was still alive and well back at Hogwarts, punishment had to be dealt where it was due – the Dark Lord's words, not Draco's.

"If nothing else, I'm a man of my word," he had declared before he made Draco watch as he tortured and killed his father. After the deed was done and Lucius Malfoy was no more, the snake-like man had turned back to the shocked and repulsed boy and said, "As for you and your mother, I'll let you live – for now. Let it not be known that Lord Voldemort is not a merciful Master to those who should choose to follow him." The menacing glint in his eyes at that moment let them all know 'merciful' was quite the opposite of the words any sane person would see fit to describe him, but none of the Death Eaters were stupid enough to point it out. They all valued their sorry excuse for a life too much to take such senseless risks – speaking out of line in the Dark Lord's presence was literally suicidal behavior.

The punishment inflicted directly towards the person of the only male Malfoy left was considered mild in comparison; _only_ a few bouts under the Cruciatus Curse, though the mere thought of it still had his limbs twitching more than a month later.

Heaving a dejected sigh, Draco rolled over on top of his dark, silken sheets, coming to rest his platinum blonde head on his right arm. His cheerless, gray eyes were drawn to a simple framed picture on display on his bedside table. The Dark Lord had ordered the burning of all Malfoy family pictures as an extended penance, but he had managed to save one and keep it undetected from the evil man and his followers.

Little Draco in the picture had been roughly two years old when it was taken. He was perched on his mother's lap, smiling widely and giggling in delight as he reached out his tiny hands to play with her long hair. Lucius was standing straight right behind her chair, resting a hand on his wife's shoulder. Neither of the two adults were smiling – Malfoys were regal, after all, they had a reputation to uphold – but happiness and pride had their clear eyes sparkling in their pristine, young faces.

With his gaze focused on the female in the picture, Draco tried not to think about his father's recently permanent absence from his life, and the world in general. The only reason Narcissa Malfoy and Draco himself hadn't been murdered along with his father was that the Dark Lord wanted to wait and see whether he could be of any more use to him. His best chance at survival had been if he'd been welcomed back to Hogwarts. Even though Voldmort already had a man on the inside, another one certainly wouldn't hurt – and in that case he needed Narcissa as a bargaining chip to keep her son in line, especially now that he knew for sure the Dark Lord would make good of his threats.

Fortunately he _did_ receive such a letter from the magical school. Oddly enough, the parchment had not contained so much as a hint that anything out of the ordinary had transpired the last time they'd encountered one another.

There was one thing, though – and this was the strangest and least expected request he'd received in his whole life, one which probably would've had the Dark Lord jumping for joy, had he been the kind of person prone to such acts – Headmaster Dumbledore wanted him, _Draco Malfoy_, to take on the responsibility as the new Head Boy. He had also attached a personal note to the letter, informing him that he thought the Slytherin would manage the task swimmingly.

In truth, Draco though to himself, Dumbledore had to be even more of an old fool than his father had always claimed, to invite his almost-assassin back into his school. Ha had no idea what had possessed the old coot to take such a foolhardy chance. He might not have handled the part were he was to actually end the old man's life, but he _had_ led a band of Death Eaters into the castle, endangering the lives of his fellow students.

Of course he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize this once in a lifetime opportunity. It might be his only chance to save the lives of both him and his mother. He loathed the thought of leaving his dear mother in the clutches of the Dark Lord and his vile subjects, though. It made him anxious – she was innocent in all this mess.

A slight motion in his periphery coaxed the young man to shift his gray gaze over the spotless, almost clinically white ceiling. There was a butterfly – a _black_ butterfly – flittering around the lavish crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. His weary eyes followed it for a while, keeping an eye on the only living being in the vast chambers, beside himself.

"Are you feeling trapped as well?" Draco wondered in a perfectly normal, conversational tone of voice, paying absolutely no mind to the fact he was speaking to a creature physically and mentally unable to either understand nor respond to any kind of human communication.

But it didn't bother him much. He was _that_ deprived of intelligent company.

"Just one more week now," he muttered out loud to no one in particular. "One more..."

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**"_In the Philippines, a lingering black butterfly or moth in the house is taken to mean that someone in the family has died or will soon die._"**

**- wikipedia**

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**AN: Isn't anyone interested in reading this...? :(**

**Please review! It would make my day :]**


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